Einsamkeit
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Germany poured his loneliness out on paper ... and Italy found that paper. GerIta. One-shot. Song-fic to Einsamkeit, one of Germany's character songs.


**EINSAMKEIT**

**RATING: T**

**PAIRING: GerIta**

**GENRE: Angst & Romance**

**POV: Germany**

**SUMMARY:** **Germany poured his loneliness out on paper ... and Italy found that paper. One-shot. Song-fic to Einsamkeit, one of Germany's character songs.**

**INSPIRATION: Me listening to Einsamkeit and thinking _Wow, somebody really needs to pat Germany on the head and tell him that he shouldn't be lonely because Italy will always love him_ one too many times.**

**THAT THING ... YOU KNOW, THE ONE THAT STARTS WITH A D: I wish Germany and Italy were mine - if they were, I could make a fortune on selling photos of them making out - but they aren't.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>"Germany~"<p>

I looked up from my dia - I mean, military journal - to find Italy standing in the entrance to my office. His eyebrows were drawn together, his golden eyes were downcast, his mouth was pushed into a pout, and his curl was quivering. Basically, he was nervous. (Yes, I can read the dumpkoff that well. What? I _have_ been living with him for the past three years.)

"What is it, Italy?" I asked, setting my glasses down on a cloth I kept on my desk for that purpose. (I didn't want my glasses to scratch the wood.)

"Well ... um ..." he stammered in true Italy fasion, probably attempting to remember the reason he came.

I sighed. "If you can't remember what it is, go to bed and tell me about it in the morning."

"No I'll remember it~" the pasta-lover protested, scrunching up his forehead and thinking really hard, like whatever he wanted to tell me was the meaning of the universe and not that Greece's cat had had kittens (which is what it had been the day before.)

He really was cute when he did that.

...

_No! Bad Germany! _I mentally scolded myself. _Italy isn't cute. You're Germany. You're tough and strong and well-disiplined, and you're not allowed to think things are cute, especially not Italy, even if he is, and -_

"PASTA~" Italy exclaimed happily. "I remembered what it is~ Ve~"

_Happy Italy is even cuter than thinking-hard Italy._

_Oh, s_cheiss___, there I go again._

"So, what is it?" I inquired, hoping he wouldn't notice the Romano-colored blush that was most likely spreading across my face.

"I found ..." The Italian rumaged around in the pocket of his boxers for a few seconds - just watching him made me blush even harder - until he found and took out ...

Was that what I thought it was?

If it was, then I was more screwed than Ameica after he'd been locked in a room with a drunk England.

"I found it while I was digging through the trash," Italy was babbling, "and I was curious, so I read it, and ~"

"Wait," I interrupted him, "why were you digging through the trash in the first place?"

"Well, I dropped a tomato in there while I was making dinner and I was looking for it because I thought maybe if I washed it off I could still use it because I know how much you hate it when I waste stuff and ~"

"Ja, ja, I see. So you read it, and what?"

"I ... I ... I couldn't help but cry!"

Wait, what?

The Italian's eyes filled with tears at the thought of ... whatever it was ... and I was overwhelmed with a sudden urge to take his face in my hands and kiss them away.

I shook my head violently, trying to clear away the strange thought like a dog clearing water from its coat after a swim. But the idea wouldn't leave.

_That's what you get for eating all that Italian food, Germany._

"It was just so, so, so sad, Germany~" Italy was bawling. "I never imagined you were so lonely~ You should have told me~"

_Scheisse._

It _was_ what I had thought it was.

Two nights before, I hadn't been able to sleep because, as usual, I was thinking about Italy. (Not in a perverted way or anything - he just crossed my mind a lot, okay?) I was always worrying about whether or not he was okay, planning how I could keep him safe the next day, wondering if he was thinking about me ... and then, I started thinking about how pathetic it was that that dumpkoff was my only friend and how lonely I was before I became friends with him ... I was lonely my whole life, really ... even _with_ Italy around, I was still lonely, because he didn't _really_ want to be friends with me ... he was always so frightened of me ... he didn't love me ...

After that, all these words started invading my head. They seemed kind-of like song lyrics, actually. I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote them down because they seemed to be important.

_Though I look like I'm lecturing,_

_I'm actually just conversing_

_It's not really..._

_At times my face may look grim,_

_But I'm actually just cold_

_Though I don't mind it..._

_I take pride in work that needs delicacy,_

_But my fingers are fat_

_That's why_

_Even if I'm said to be "generally adequate,"_

_Strictly speaking_

_I don't understand_

_Einsamkeit_

_Einsamkeit_

_Einsamkeit_

_I want to be found_

_Though they say I eat only potatoes,_

_They're the same with soba and pasta_

_If the kitchen is just going to get dirty,_

_Then it would be better just not to cook_

_Einsamkeit_

_Einsamkeit_

_Einsamkeit_

_My heart is opening, I want to be set free_

_Because you are here, I can be myself_

_I'm always said to be scowling,_

_But my smiling face hasn't been erased_

_You may think I'm frightening,_

_But it's only because I'm straining to laugh_

_Strong_

_Einsamkeit_

Not long afterwards, I finally fell asleep.

Of course, when I found the paper the next morning, I thought it was stupid and buried it in the kitchen garbage.

But, apparently, I didn't hide it well enough.

Because there it was, in that sitzplinker's trembling hands, with dark stains on it from his tears.

"Germany ... Germany ... Germany ..." he was murmuring.

Suddenly, his hands weren't on the letter any more - they were on my head, patting and stroking my hair like it was the fur of a cat. Oddly enough, I didn't want him to stop - his hands were so warm and comforting, they made me feel like everything was going to be all right.

When did he get so close to me? When did he lean across my desk? When did I start hyperventilating? When did my heart start pounding so loudly I was positive he could hear it? And why did he always have to walk around the house wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, almost like he _wanted _me to stare at his nearly-naked figure?

"Germany," he said softly, not whining the way he usually said it, but calm, as if _I_ was the oblivious one and _he_ was the patient teacher, "you shouldn't be so lonely."

"Why?" I wondered aloud, like a confused child learning something that will completely alter his world.

"You aren't alone."

"What? I'm not?"

"I'll always be here with you."

"You will?"

"Of course I will. Do you know why that is, Germany?"

He stared at me with those lovely golden eyes, clenching my shirt in both of his hands, his face mere inches from mine. I wanted to look away, to break the tension swirling around us, but he held me there. Weak, always-surrendering Italy was the strong one all of a sudden and I was the one in need of rescue.

I shook my head in answer to his question, even though I thought I knew - no, hoped I knew - the answer somewhere in the back of my mind.

"It's because I love you, stupido," he whispered.

And then, his lips closed the gap between us and pressed lightly on my own.

_Oh mein Gott._

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><p><strong>TRANSLATIONS:<strong>

_**Dumpkoff **_**– idiot**

_**Scheisse**_**– shit**

_**Einsamkeit**_** – loneliness**

_**Sitzplinker**_** –a man who sits to pee (a synonym for "idiot")**

_**Stupido **_**– stupid**

_**Mein Gott **_**– my God**

**A/N: Germany's POV is just so danged fun to write. I really should do it more often. (Oh wait ... I did. There's that other GerIta fic I wrote but haven't typed up yet. Heh.)**

**Reviews are loved! ^_^**


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